


the post-it conundrum

by doofusface



Series: cinq et un [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5 Things, Crushes, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Love Confessions, Male-Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Romantic Comedy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doofusface/pseuds/doofusface
Summary: Five times the boys fail at deciphering, and one time Peter gets it right.





	the post-it conundrum

**Author's Note:**

> IM FINALLY FREED FROM THIS IT'S BEEN FIFTY YEARS

 

**_i. horses_ **

 

Peter finds the bright yellow sticky on his back after Ned points it out.

“Huh,” he says, looking over the drawing. “Looks like…”

“Horses?” Ned squints. “Eating?”

“There’s an arrow at the food.”

“You two are blocking the exit,” MJ says, walking up and shoving them forward, not unkindly. A freshman nods a thank you at her. She nods back. “Very inconsiderate.”

“Look what we found!” Ned says excitedly, stealing the Post-it from Peter’s hand and passing it to her. “Someone stuck it on Peter’s back.”

MJ frowns, eyeing the drawing with blatant disinterest. “…Congrats, it’s paper.”

“No, dude, look!” he says, pointing at the drawing.

“Um. Horses. Drawn on paper,” she says slowly, nodding at every word.

“Horses _eating,_ ” Peter says, as if _that_ would explain it.

“…Yes. Looks like it.”

“So?”

“So…?”

“What do you think it means?” Ned asks, gesturing to the Post-it repeatedly.

“That horses deserve to eat and be treated with kindness?”

“I’m never going to try horse meat, MJ.”

“Good,” she says, moving past them. “Now. We have class, you know.”

Peter speeds up, walking beside her. “Hey, you wanna help me figure this out? You’re better at puzzles.”

She quirks a brow. “No?”

“That didn’t sound final.”

“…No.”

“C’mon, MJ! It could be fun!” Ned says, catching up. “Plus, _I_ can’t help, ‘cause I have a different class—”

“I’m not spending calc trying to figure out a drawing when we’ve got like, what?” MJ says, counting with her fingers. “Two? Three? Tests in the next two weeks?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “It’s like with Nationals! You gotta let loose and do something fun! _This_ is something _fun_.”

“Your big ol’ frowny face when I got in _definitely_ made it look fun.”

“Ugh.”

MJ pats his head, smirking. “There, there. Math always makes you happy. C’mon, if we’re late, Flash’ll try to take my seat again to torture you.”

“ _Man_ ,” Peter frowns, waving away at Ned as he begrudgingly walks away with MJ, his hand instinctively on her elbow. “Later, bro.”

“Bye, Leeds,” MJ nods.

“See you guys at lunch!” Ned yells over the sea of chatter.

* * *

(Peter doesn’t figure it out by lunch, but at least MJ was beside him all through his next two classes and he _didn’t_ have to worry about the Post-it getting snatched by Flash.)

* * *

MJ hums, looking over his shoulder during break at decathlon practice.

Maybe this once.

Because it really was kind of inconvenient to start this right before finals.

Peter and Ned are hunched together, peering at the little square and it’s littler horses and—

“Hay,” MJ says, hip-checking Peter’s side. “It’s pointing at the hay.”

Peter _blinks_.

Ned laughs. “You’re right! You’re—wait, so ‘hay’?” He scrunches up his face, turning to Peter. “Why ‘ _hay_ ’?”

“Not _hay_ ,” Peter says, eyes widening as he stands slowly, looking between his friends. “ _Hey_!”

“Yeah, dude—hay.”

“Hey.”

“Hay.”

“Okay, we’re gonna stop that,” MJ cuts in, shoving a hand over each of their faces and pushing them apart. She bends down, turning to Ned. “It’s _hey_ , the greeting.”

“Ohhhh,” Ned vocalizes, head tipping back and eyes widening. He throws up finger guns. “Gets.”

“Hey,” Peter mumbles, leaning back in his chair. His brows crease, and he scratches his temple. “…There’ll be more.”

Ned tilts his head. “What makes you think that?”

“Like MJ said—it’s a greeting,” Peter says, gesturing them to huddle closer. “It’s the start of a sentence.”

 _Smart_ , MJ thinks approvingly.

“Smart,” MJ says monotonously.

Peter grins at her, bright and _close._

Abe coughs, somehow in front of them now. “I don’t want to interrupt because we’ve been waiting for _this_ —” he says, gesturing to MJ and Peter, “—for _forever_ , but Harrington said he’ll be back five minutes late and to tell Cap to get us started without him.”

MJ clears her throat, straightening. “‘Kay. Thanks, Abe.”

Ned mentally notes that she doesn’t bother to correct him about the _Two Faces Within Kissing Distance_ thing.

Peter does, too.

 

**_ii. picture_ **

 

The second one’s…a portrait?

Some wild-haired, old dude.

“Who is this?” Ned asks, taking the drawing from Peter’s notebook.

Oh!

Hey!

Peter knows this one!

“Tchaikovsky!” Peter cheers.

MJ stiffens, the forkful of spaghetti previously making good time to reach her mouth halted indefinitely. She watches him, trying to keep her breathing and pulse level, knowing full well he can hear both.

Peter frowns. “Tchai—okay, I mean, I’m _sure_ it’s Tchaikovsky, but I don’t…get it?”

MJ exhales, and the pasta finds itself at its destined landing.

“Okay, what do we know about Tchaikovsky?” Ned says, fingers steepled.

“…We have to play him remixed with Rihanna next week?”

“ _Other_ than that.”

 _C’mon, Peter_ , MJ thinks, hoping her non-intense stare at him will help him get it.

“You think it’s cheating to use Wikipedia?” Peter asks her, face scrunched. _Or Karen?_ he adds silently, with an eyebrow twitch.

“I don’t think there are set rules for note puzzles,” MJ blanks, “but if there were…who cares? The person who gave them to you isn’t here, anyway.”

Ned quirks a brow at her. “What happened to the honor code?”

“This isn’t an official competition, Ned. You don’t have to go that hard.”

He opens his mouth, says nothing, clamps it shut, and nods with a lazy, “ _Ehhh_ , she’s right.”

“Bet.”

Peter pulls out his phone, glancing around before opening Karen’s integrated interface.

“Okay, Tchaikovsky—born Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky in Votkinsk—” Ned reads from over his shoulder, stopping abruptly. “Oh.”

Peter raises a brow at him.

“ _Duh_ ,” Ned laughs, rolling his eyes.

MJ looks between them, waiting.

“I don’t get it,” Peter blurts out, still staring at Ned.

Ned laughs again, shoving the phone closer to his face. “Dude. _Pyotr_.”

“‘ _Hey, Pyotr_ ’?”

(MJ groans.

But only mentally.)

“It’s the Russian version of _Peter_ , dude,” Ned grins, laughing as he rounds the table to sit by MJ, sandwich in hand. “Whoever is sending you these is _good_.”

MJ adjusts in her seat, returning to her spaghetti full-time. _Thanks, Ned_.

“Hmm,” Peter hums, flipping the Post-it around.

MJ squints. “…What are you doing?”

Peter tilts his head, thumbing a line. “It just…” he says, voice fading to a sigh. He glances at her quickly, lips pursing. “…Nevermind. It’s dumb.”

MJ furrows her brows, eyeing him cautiously as she continues eating.

Ned nudges her. “Want cake?”

“You don’t have cake,” she blanks, eyes still on Peter.

“Not here,” Ned says, shifting in his seat the way he always does before he prattles off about something. “My house—we have too much tiramisu, so if you want to come over later and claim your 80%…”

MJ nods, face stuffed with food.

Peter nods, too, silently exiting the table.

He doesn’t face her as he goes.

* * *

“Karen?”

“ _Yes, Peter?_ ”

“There are a lot of people that draw at Midtown, right?”

“ _Yes, Peter_.”

“Okay. Okay, cool. Thanks, Karen.”

“ _You’re welcome, Peter_.”

“Oh! And please remind me to pick up those groceries for May in like, an hour, maybe?”

“ _Sure thing, Peter._ ”

 

**_iii. construction_ **

 

It’s bright blue and Ned grabs it before he can.

Ned frowns. “Um. Building blocks?”

“Like Lego?” Peter squints, turning it this way and that.

“Nah, that’s a construction site behind it, see?” Ned says.

“ _Huh._ That’s a lot of detail for not a lot of space.”

Ned taps Sally’s shoulder, and she looks up from the project they’re all _supposed_ to be working on, face scrunching as he passes the little drawing for her to inspect. “What see you?”

Sally narrows her eyes at him, but checks the drawing anyway. “…Steel beams,” she says after a moment, flicking her pencil down to the chart on the table. “Can we focus now, please? I’m not doing so well in economics and _really_ need the grade bump.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Peter says, brows furrowed as he wonders how anyone could’ve snuck it into his backpack before free period.

_Steel beams, huh?_

* * *

(MJ’s extra busy the whole day with projects and spreadsheet-fixing, so he and Ned don’t ask her opinion on it.

Peter starts getting really excited about solving a mystery without digital help so _he_ doesn’t ask Karen to scan the doodle, even though Ned really, _really_ wants to.)

 

**_iv. fruit_ **

 

Peter notices it when he gets up to return his tray, and it falls in slow-mo to the ground.

MJ hands it to him—pink and subdued, with a bright yellow mango inked into the middle.

He frowns. “These are getting super vague.”

Ned stares at it from over his shoulder. “A mango. What.”

“‘ _Hey, Peter…mango_ ,’” MJ says, frowning. “Mmk.”

“Oh, there was another one before this,” Peter says, tongue sticking out as he fumbles around in his pockets for the notepad he keeps them in. He opens it, showing her the first one they’d found. “So it goes: _Hey_ , _Peter_ , then _steel beam_ , and _mango_ ,” he says, flipping to the respective Post-its.

MJ tilts her chin up. “ _Ahhh_.”

Ned’s eyes widen. “You figured it out?”

“Oh, no, I just—” she starts, nodding at the notepad, “—I was wondering if you kept them.”

“They’re little masterpieces, of _course_ I kept them,” Peter says defensively, huddling over the notepad.

MJ’s cheeks don’t warm.

Not at all.

Promise.

“Sweet of you,” she snorts, pulling her bag strap over her head. “On to the human torture chamber?”

Peter quirks a brow. “…Gym?”

She grins.

“Gym,” Ned nods, stretching as he follows her out. “Lez _do_ dis.”

* * *

The breakthrough happens right after patrol, after May yells at Peter for getting cut (again) and _almost shot doesn’t mean I_ got _shot, see!_ and before MJ gets back from the bathroom.

“Oh!” Ned yells, abruptly jumping to his feet and tapping Peter’s not-bandage-covered shoulder. “Oh-oh!”

“Oh?” Peter asks, looking up with a lightheaded daze.

“I know!” Ned cheers, grinning ear-to-ear. “The mango! I get it! It’s—”

“Ned, I need your help,” MJ blanks, swooping in from the doorway and dragging Ned towards the living room. “Birb, Pete.”

“Birb?” Peter echoes, leaning back on the wall as he stares at the ceiling. “Uh, when did I get two lights?”

* * *

“We shouldn’t've left him in there, he’s still really loopy from the blood loss,” Ned frowns, moving to head back.

MJ puts a firm hand on his shoulder, barricading the way. “What do you think the mango means?” she asks, eyes steady and tone serious.

“It’s the heart,” Ned shrugs, attempting to push past her again. “ _C’mon_ , Peter needs—”

“What _about_ the heart, Ned?” MJ asks, firmer than last time. She sidesteps when he does, tiptoes when he tiptoes.

Ned sighs, arms thrown to the side in exasperation. “ _Heart_ equals _love_ , so whoever’s sending these to Pete is either getting to a love declaration for _him_ , or for the _very_ respectable career choice that is construction—so dude, can you _please_ just let me check on our bleeding budd—”

“They’re mine,” MJ says plainly, both hands on both of his shoulders now.

 _Blink._ “…What.”

Her eyes don’t waver. “The Post-its. They’re mine.”

Ned’s brows shoot up, and he glances at Peter’s door and back to MJ, jaw hanging. “Well. Dang. Dude.”

MJ tilts her head in acknowledgment. “I need you to not tell him.”

“Uh. Then why did you help us with the first one?”

 _Shrug_ , but she doesn’t release him. “It wasn’t really fair to spring that before final projects started getting assigned. Bad brain stress, and all.”

“…I won’t tell him if you let me check on him,” Ned bargains, chin tucked.

 _Huff._ “He’s _fine_.”

“ _Ooooh_! Hey, guys! I can twist my tongue!"  _Rustling._  "Cuh’ woo’!” they hear from the room.

MJ wants to ask, _Did that knife somehow transfer laughing gas into his system?_ but settles for pressing her lips together and squinting as she evenly says, “Perfectly normal.”

“He lost a lot of blood.”

“He’s clotting. He’ll be fine. We did all the stuff Tony said to do.”

Ned’s lips slowly turn up to a smirk. “You _really_ don’t want me to tell him _mango_ means _love_ , do you?”

If possible, the line of her lips tightens. “It would be…nice. To let him figure it out.” _Cough_. “Like a training exercise. A drill.”

“…You spend way too much time making our drills for decathlon.”

“…Probably,” MJ says, glancing up at the thought.

“I’ll help you next week,” Ned says, nose wrinkled in pity.

“‘preciate it.”

Ned raises a brow, stepping back. “So.”

“So.”

“You should close the door.”

(She closes the door.)

“Okay…” Ned starts, taking a deep breath, “…why even do this if you don’t want him to find out?”

“I…I guess, like— _ugh_ —I _do_ want him to find out, but I _just—_ I don’t.” _Squint_ , as she sighs tiredly, tucking her bangs. “Like, I want it to be _out there_ , for him to know, but I don’t want him to like, know they’re from _me_.”

“You guess.”

“I guess.”

Ned ducks a little, lips pursed. “You know he likes you, right?”

MJ snorts. “That’s a thought.”

“He does.”

“I’m canceling this talk,” she says, slowly walking back to the room. “For, like, ever.”

Ned’s shoulders drop. “But—”

“For _ever_ ,” MJ repeats, brows raised pointedly. She makes a _zip_ motion over her lips as she walk in to check on Peter.

Ned rolls his eyes, hunched over as he walks in after her.

_Fine._

But if they end up making out at school, _he’s outing ‘em_.

 

**_v. goal_ **

 

It’s a goalpost.

A football goalpost.

“I don’t know if I should even bother,” Peter says, staring at the square, the neon green mocking him.

“Oh, but you’re so good at that,” MJ quips, snickering when he frowns at her. “I’d say sorry, but I have no regrets.”

Ned quirks a brow at her. _You sure?_

 _Look away, Leeds, don’t make it obvious_ , she stares back.

Ned sits up, turning to the Post-it. He frowns. “Football?”

(MJ’s glad they genuinely confuse Ned, because he’s a bad liar on a good day and she can’t afford a snitch right now.)

Peter groans, throwing down the 3”x3” square.

Or trying.

Because it’s a 3”x3” square of _paper_ , and those mostly like, _glide_ down.

“I can’t even get mad at them right,” Peter frowns.

MJ pats his head. “I’m sure your mad smart brain will think of something.” Pause. "Mad as in _very_ , not _angry_."

“Magnets,” Ned says, rubbing his chin. He stares at the ceiling, drawing up plans in his head. “Paper thin magnets.”

“High mass vibranium, maybe,” Peter says, leaning on his hand. He watches the Post-it land.

MJ watches him study it, sighing as he pulls out his notepad to stick it in with the others. He’s _careful_ and _reverent_ and a _perfectionist_ about it, making sure the corners are tucked in perfectly and not in danger of getting crushed by outside objects.

“I wish I knew what they meant,” Peter sighs, lying over the table. He thumbs the newest one, glancing once at MJ as he does so.

“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Ned says consolingly, hugging his shoulders. “It’ll come to you.”

“Like a fly to a web,” MJ jokes.

“Gee, thanks, MJ,” Peter says, huffing.

“No problemo, Pete,” MJ says, patting his head again. “Always here to offer my unsolicited advice.”

 

**_vi. decoded_ **

 

MJ has a problem.

That problem is that Peter _figures out_ about three weeks later, when the Post-it’s are all together on his wall, that the line quality looks…exactly like hers.

Weight, flicks, and all.

Same shade of pencil or pen.

He brings it up one day at lunch, and she neither confirms nor denies.

She just, uh, leaves the table.

Does that every time he tries to bring it up, really.

He learns not to.

Ned just keeps sitting there, curling into himself to duck his face under his hand whenever Peter tries to ask _him_ about it. Deflects, mostly, by asking about Lego and _Star Wars_.

Sometimes even _The Legend of Zelda_ , if he’s feeling extra creative.

Peter takes their silence as confirmation, even if he plays it off like the opposite—he wants to hear them say it, hear the words that’ll confirm his Sherlock Holmes spiraling was worth the two sleepless nights and several days’ worth of questionable sleeping hours of him scouring MJ’s (incredibly spaced out) art posts online, and his highly-questionable watching of her sketching people during lunch and detention.

(Did he have to explain to May that he didn’t get detention this time, and he was just hanging out because he needed to see if MJ’s line quality matched these _tiny drawings I’ve been getting at school that spell out a code and_ no _, I didn’t get zapped by another guy with one of those memory-manipulating cannons_? Yes.

Did that help him look less like a weirdo? _Noooope_.)

* * *

Ned has enough of the _Dancing Around A Secret_ thing after a week, during a free period. He opts to try and check the robotics lab for something “productive” to do, because all he’s been doing lately is facepalming and ducking his head and trying to not look Peter in the eye.

“I’ll be back,” he mumbles, fully intending to _not_ be back.

Peter nods, a small, tight frown on his lips. He pulls out his notepad, rechecking the Post-its.

MJ raises her book, covering her face.

No one else is in the study room.

Peter flips the pages back and forth.

Back and forth.

 _Baaaaack_ and _foooorth_.

“Bathroom,” MJ announces, irked by the sound. She stands, moving quickly to grab the doorknob.

“‘I love you’,” Peter says automatically.

MJ freezes at the doorway, leg motion forgotten. She grits her teeth. “What did you say?”

“That’s what they mean. _‘Hey, Peter, I love you_.’”

“That’s—” _Correct_. “—a good guess.”

“I’m right, right?”

 _Yes_. “Dunno.”

“…You’re trying not to smile.”

 _True_. “Possible.”

“MJ?”

“Pete.”

“I know they’re yours.”

MJ swallows, throat very dry and air very tense.

All she has to do is take one more step.

The hallway is freedom.

The hallway is safe.

…Her feet are stuck.

She curses, eyes shutting.

It’s confirmation.

It’s a _go_.

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Peter says softly, walking up beside her. “We say it all the time.”

MJ presses her lips into a thin line, cheeks taught. “I don’t think you’re reading it right.”

“Oh,” Peter frowns at the floor, furrowing his brows. “But…am I close?”

“No, I mean,” she says, facing him. She puffs up her cheeks. “I mean, um. The emphasis. In the sentence. You’re reading it wrong.”

Peter _blinks_.

“It’s like, um,” MJ starts, voice faltering slightly. “Like, _love_ , y’know?”

Peter stares at her, frozen.

Confused.

MJ clears her throat, sighing reluctantly. “ _Hey, Peter—I_ love _you_ ,” she recites, eyes on his. She takes a deep breath, puffing up her cheeks again as she exhales slowly, trying to fill in the void of silence.

It doesn’t work, but:

“…Get it?”

(He got it.)

“I got it.”

“Good.”

He gulps.

She turns, continuing on her way, because _well, it’s out there_ — _time to book it to Canada_.

“So it’s like,” he starts, and she’s stuck again, “if I said, um, if I—uh. Said. Like.” He swallows thickly. “ _Hey, MJ—I_ love _you_.”

MJ twists in place, attention back to him and brows shooting up. “Excuse me?”

Peter shrugs automatically, but he’s still tapping his hands lightly, rapidly. “You’re excused.”

“Say that again.”

“Hey, MJ?” he grins lopsidedly, the corners of his lips twitching with nervous energy. “I love you.”

She shoves a finger into his chest, voice low. “Don’t play me, Pete. I had a long day and a _really_ long _month_.”

“I wanna kiss you,” he blurts out. “Wanted to, for a while.”

MJ’s jaw drops.

(But only slightly, in case anyone asks.)

She swallows thickly, throat dry. “…So why not?”

Peter’s eyes are crinkled and half-lidded and much closer than two seconds ago. “I feel like I should ask your permission?”

“Ask.”

“Okay,” he says hoarsely, taking a deep, shaky breath. “MJ?”

She nods, distracted by him licking his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Pause. “Um. Please?”

She nods again, already a breath away.

* * *

It’s going pretty good until Ned walks in and runs back out to scream about them making out to literally _everyone_ in the hallway.

“Hindsight says door-locking is important,” MJ says, sticking her tongue in her cheek.

“I mean, he’s not lying?” Peter says, half his face scrunched up.

“Currently, he is.”

“We should make him…not a liar.”

“It’s what good friends would do, right?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Well,” MJ says, hands behind his neck and tugging his face closer, “we gotta uphold our rep.”

“As good friends?” Peter rasps, lips brushing hers.

“The best.”

* * *

Ned finds them again, but is much more nervous the second time ‘round, mostly because Coach Wilson is with him and it’s his own fault for getting his best buddies caught and sent to the principal’s office.

Probably shouldn't have yelled the news into the Teacher's Lounge, really.

(Later, Principal Morita visibly struggles with giving them detention for it, with all that he knows, but MJ quickly, _monotonously_ offers to sit in and write the punishment herself and _that’s_ how Peter and MJ almost got _extra_ detention for flirting incessantly from opposing ends of the detention room.)

**Author's Note:**

> okay back to my mountain cave
> 
> -hay  
> -pyotr  
> -i-beams  
> -mango  
> -U-goalpost
> 
> God bless!!! you all!!!! find me on tumblr as doofwrites or yell at me here!! <3


End file.
